Understanding
by inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: Steve Rogers would never turn down a request from a lady, even if it means he has to talk to a very drunk, very unstable, very Tony Tony Stark. But maybe this conversation is just what he needs to finally understand where the self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist is coming from.
If nothing else, Steve was a gentleman. He was raised in a generation that believed in chivalry and common courtesy, politeness and manners. It was a generation that believed in holding doors and offering umbrellas, and he was proud to be a part of it, even if the rest of the world had left it behind. So, naturally, when Pepper asked him for a favor, he offered his services before she could even tell him what it was she needed.

"It's Tony."

He could still picture the face she had made while speaking, her tone professional but her eyes both embarrassed and worried. His own eyes had softened with sympathy, and then he had offered her a warm smile as invitation to continue.

"He won't come out of his lab, and I know he's drinking, but I don't know how much. I don't know what to do. He's locked everything up, and he won't answer his phone."

Silently, Steve had applied a few disparaging terms to the inventor in question, and then he indulged himself in a fantasy where he gave the alcoholic a few smacks upside the head to sober him. He didn't understand how Tony could behave the way he did when he knew how negatively it affected the people he claimed to love.

How Pepper and Tony even wound up together in the first place was a miracle to him.

But Steve had already agreed to help, and even if he hadn't, he couldn't very well take it out on Pepper. It wasn't her fault. It was Tony's.

So, Steve had given her another smile along with a few encouraging words, and then he had left her behind, making his way down into the lab with a scowl etched deeply intohis features. He tried to count to ten forwards and backwards, tried to think positive thoughts, tried to take deep breaths and put himself in Tony's shoes, hoping he would begin to understand at least where Tony was coming from.

Steve was still scowling when he got to the door.

"Tony." He called out despite the fact that there was a thick wall of glass between them, music blaring from beyond the barrier. "Tony, we need to talk."

Tony was hunched over a bench, tools in his hands and tucked behind his ears and stuffed into his pockets. He straightened up slightly and looked across the room at Steve. He looked right at him, rolled his eyes, and then hunched back over, pulling his goggles down over his eyes.

 _We can play whatever way you want, Tony. You make the calls._ Steve drew his arm back and let it fly, feeling the glass cave beneath the impact and hearing the music come to a sudden stop. _You should be used to that. You've been calling the shots your entire life._

Tony barely reacted to the commotion, giving Steve a raised eyebrow before turning back to his work with a quick, "You're paying for that."

Steve said nothing, approaching the table with a sense of agitation already forming in the pit of his stomach. He was doing this for Pepper. He was doing this because it was the right thing. He was doing this because it was the kind of thing Steve Rogers would do.

But for the love of all things good and holy, he didn't _want_ to.

Steve stood across from his objective and crossed his arms over his chest, nothing but a cluttered work bench between them. He squared his shoulders and waited, giving Tony the chance to man up and start the conversation.

He didn't, of course.

"Tony, what are you doing?"

"Uh." Tony gestured to the mess of chips and wires. "Clearly, I am making myself a salad. Want one?"

Steve clenched his jaw, mentally steeling himself for the dialogue to come. "Pepper is worried about you." _Someone you supposedly love is worried about you._ "I just want a straight answer." _This isn't a game. You're hurting people._

"Well, worrying about me _is_ in her job description." Tony grabbed a pair of tweezers from behind his ear and buffered for a moment, realizing he couldn't hold and use tweezers while he had pliers in that same hand. "But you can tell her everything is just fine. Because it is." He made a shooing motion with his hand, not giving Steve as much as a sideways glance. "So, you can go now. Bye."

Steve inhaled slowly, trying to quell the quickly escalating irritation in his gut. " _Clearly_ , everything is not fine, because if it were, she wouldn't have come to me." He watched the inventor work, knowing their discussion was hardly the center of his attention. "Her worry is justified. You're wasted and exhausted and showing no signs of calling it a night; anyone with a brain can see that."

"You have one?" Tony gave the quip a second to sink in before, finally, giving Steve his full attention. "Look, Cappuccino, this is what I do. I go for days like this, and then things balance out again until the next time this happens."

"Meanwhile, Pepper is left alone to overanalyze what could possibly be wrong with you, and you're fine with that?" Steve shook his head, scoffing. "Unbelievable."

"Not really." Tony shrugged his shoulders, reclaiming the pliers and once again splitting his attention between his work and his intruder. "Now, if a bald eagle wearing a tuxedo flew down and dropped a deer sausage into your mouth, and you were fine with _that_ , that would be unbelievable."

"This isn't a joke, Tony."

"Why so serious?"

"Pepper is really upset."

"She'll recover."

Steve's hand came down hard, fingers curling through the electronic spaghetti and clenching it in his genetically enhanced, shaking fist.

"Wha—?" Tony shot from his chair like a rocket, ripping his goggles off and knocking the small tools from his ears in the process. "Do you have any idea how long I have been working on that?"

"No, and I don't care." Steve lifted the mess up to the inventor's face and continued. "Because this was not, is not, and will never be more important than the people who love you. Pepper is an incredible woman who loves you more than anyone in the world, and you are completely disregarding her feelings so you can pursue your own, selfish desires."

"Four days." Tony stared at the soldier's fist, aghast. "I've been working on that for four days." Shock melted into anger, and he slapped the hand aside, driving his index finger into Steve's chest. "I was working on that for _four_ straight days, and you crushed it to make a _point?_ "

Steve glared, unwavering and unapologetic, tossing the jumbled invention back onto the work bench. "Did you even hear a word I said?"

"Did you hear a word _I_ said?" Tony shot back, his sarcasm and nonchalance disappearing beneath a wave genuine outrage. "I spent the last ninety-six hours of my life working on—"

"On a _machine,_ Tony." Steve gestured toward the stairs that lead into the upper levels of the building, his own voice rising to match his opponent's. "Meanwhile, there is someone up there—someone alive, someone flesh and blood and bones—worrying herself sick over you."

Tony stared for a moment, slipping back into the stunned horror for just a moment before the anger vanished altogether. "Didn't you have some rule about respecting your elders back in the day?" He smirked, grabbing a glass and immediately returning to his default of indifference and alcohol.

Steve let out a sigh. "It wasn't just back in my day, Tony. It's from the Bible, and it was talking about a different kind of elder."

"Wait, you mean you weren't one of the twelve disciples? I always assumed they got one of the names wrong." Tony threw back the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. "My point is, I don't need to be lectured on romance by a twenty-five-year-old virgin from the forties who didn't even _dance_ with the only girl he actually had a chance of f—"

Tony never finished, Steve's fist sending him into a backward tumble. Tony's hand barely caught the edge of the work bench as he fell, overturning the stool and landing on its legs.

Steve walked around the table and glared at the man on the floor, trembling with rage, his vision blurring more than once as his pulse shot through the roof. "Don't talk about Peggy that way. Don't…" He shook his head, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Don't _ever_ say anything that disrespectful and vulgar and slanderous about Peggy. Ever."

Tony sat on the floor, staring up at him, one hand still on the bench while the other cradled his jaw and bloody lips. Both literally and metaphorically floored, the genius had seemingly run out of things to say.

"I loved Peggy, and I lost my chance to be with her." Steve swallowed, bitterness creeping into his tone. "You are throwing away your chance to be with Pepper because you are too wrapped up in your own narcissistic universe to put her first."

"No, Romeo, I'm doing what you couldn't." Tony pulled himself to his feet, slowly and shakily, feeling around for a bottle out of habit. "I am protecting her. I am making sure that nothing will ever hurt her or keep me from being there when she needs me."

Steve let out a short bark of incredulous laughter and dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair. "What part of this are you not getting? It's you, Tony. _You_ are the thing that is hurting her. _You_ are the thing that is keeping you from being there." Shaking his head, he let his temper rule his tongue for a moment, knowing there would be consequences but too angry to care.

"Howard would be so disappointed."

There was silence for a moment or two, the kind of silence that stopped hearts and thickened the tension in a room until it was tangible. Tony stared at Steve, lips twisting up into a smirk, a condescending laugh rising in his throat.

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you? You knew him better than I did." Tony picked up the pliers once again, but he only toyed with them, clearly trying to occupy his hands but unable to work on his demolished project for obvious reasons. "Not that I blame you for that. It's not like you asked him to spend his entire life searching for your body on the off-chance you were still alive. Or so he could bury you properly. I honestly can't remember what he was trying to do."

Steve didn't say anything, watching Tony carefully, not knowing what to expect.

Tony leaned against the table, putting most of his weight on his arms. "This might be hard for you to understand, but some people aren't handed fame and ap—applause in a little vial. I am defined by what I do, and this," he gestured to the room, "is who I decided to be. Pepper knew that when she agreed to take the next step."

Steve opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Tony continued.

"She can spew all she likes about how worried she is, but to tell you the truth, I don't really care. She worries when she feels like it, just like Rhodey, just like Dad, just like you. You all care when it's convenient, but let me tell you something." Teetering, the billionaire struggled to stay upright, reaching down in a haphazard attempt to grab the stool he had knocked over. "This stuff… this stuff can't feel a thing. When I was in Afghanistan, everyone was oh-so worried about me, but when I got back and decided I wasn't making weapons anymore, they got over their worry pretty quick. Rhodey told me I had to get my act together because I wasn't doing what he wanted anymore, even if doing what he wanted meant sacrificing my own conscience. Pepper cared to an extent, but she was ready to walk out on me when my choices got too stressful for her. But this stuff…"

Steve took a step forward and crouched down, helping him lift the chair into an upright position, still not saying a word. Tony had never actually spoken to him about anything that wasn't science-centered or laced with thick sarcasm. Granted, the honesty was almost certainly a result of the alcohol in his system, but the insight it offered was enlightening, to say the least.

"This stuff never left me." Sitting on the stool with some difficulty, Tony dropped his upper body onto the tabletop. "When I was dying, the two of them were too mad at me to really notice if anything was wrong, and Pepper was less than supportive when…" He trailed then, moaning loudly and feeling around blindly for another bottle.

"Tony, drinking more isn't going to tighten your tongue. If you want to stop talking, you should stop drinking, first." Steve gently grabbed his wrist, pulling it off of the table and looking around for somewhere he could lay the man down. "Keep telling me about Pepper and Rhodey," he urged, scanning the room in the hopes of finding some sort of futon or reclining chair.

"Started having nightmares." Shrugging, Tony surrendered more of his consciousness and went limp in Steve's arms. "Battle of New York. I got… mmm, not okay in the head... I panicked... and it was just me again." Tony glared weakly at him, and up close, Steve could see just how dark the circles under his eyes had become. "You can talk all day about how selfish and careless I am, but I learned that behavior. I did what was best for the world, and I lost my friends. I tried to hand everything I owned over to people who could take care of it, because I knew I was dying, and everyone left me again. I flew a nuclear rocket into a wormhole to save the world, and—" Tony tensed, almost as if he thought the floor were going to open up and suck him back into that dark, endless expanse. "…and when I was paranoid and couldn't sleep or function because of it…"

Steve listened in silence, gently steering him towards the couch along the far wall.

"I'm tired of looking out for other people, Cap. Nobody ever looks out for me, and I'm tired." Tony's head dropped a little lower, his legs giving out just as Steve got him to the sofa. "I'm so… so… so tired…"

Steve carefully situated the man on the couch, opening his mouth to speak but finding he didn't know what to say. He wouldn't go so far as to say he misjudged Tony—the man embraced his narcissism on a regular basis, after all—but at least he had some sort of understanding now.

"I think the last time someone took care of me was in Afghanistan… and I couldn't protect him. I couldn't..." Tony stopped, looking up at Steve with glassy eyes and an odd expression, as if he hadn't realized he was speaking out loud until that moment. "I'm not stupid, Cap. I know I shouldn't be alive, and I know the only reason I am is so I can fix what I've broken. But that doesn't mean I don't get sick of it."

Steve said nothing for several moments, untying Tony's shoelaces and pulling the sneakers from his feet. "Well… you've never done anything for me, and I'm here, aren't I?"

Tony snorted, struggling to keep his eyes open. "You're here because Pepper asked you to check on me."

"No." Steve shook his head. "I came down here because Pepper asked me to; I'm staying because I don't think you should be alone right now."

Tony didn't say anything, staring at him with such a blank, dead-eyed expression that Steve had to wonder if the inventor had even heard him. There was a flicker of something in the marbleized chocolate eyes that Steve couldn't identify, and then Tony let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes.

"I don't need your help, Spangles."

Steve chuckled and shook his head, looking down at the drunken man with a small smile. "I didn't say you did."

"Good. Because I don't." Tony's eyes fluttered, and with a final mumble, he finally lost his grip on consciousness. "I don't need anyone."

Steve's smile slowly faded, a sort of heaviness settling in his chest. He didn't know how much of Tony's story he could believe, but even someone as accustomed to drunkenness as Tony was couldn't tell a convincing lie while they were that impaired. And even if it hadn't been the truth about what happened, it had been the truth about how Tony felt.

 _I never thought about what it must have been like, inheriting Howard's legacy. He acts like he doesn't care what everyone thinks of him, and that must be true to some extent, or he would have flip-flopped on the weapons issue a long time ago. But I still don't think he was lying…_

Steve frowned, making a mental note to research Tony's past later. If he could get his hands on some cold, hard facts, maybe he could put together a better idea of how the crazy genius' brain worked.

 _For now, at least, I can do this for him._ Steve looked around, hoping to find another bed of some sort where he could get some sleep for himself. _I should be here when he wakes up. He'll think I was lying if I'm not._

"Captain Rogers, there is a fold-out bed on the wall directly to your right."

Steve jumped at the sudden voice, recovering quickly and casting a small smile towards the ceiling. "Thank you, Jarvis."

"You are most welcome, Captain."

Reaching out, Steve felt along the wall until he found a set of buttons, pressing the largest one and watching in amazement as the panel started to come towards him. He waited until it was completely horizontal and then grabbed onto it, pulling down hard to ensure that it wouldn't give beneath his weight.

 _It's a bed in a wall._

Chuckling to himself, Steve pulled himself up onto the bed and laid down. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, folding his hands over his stomach and listening to the quiet snores below. He allowed yet another smile to tug at the corner of his mouth.

 _Sweet dreams, Tony._

* * *

Author's Note: All my fellow Tim Hawkins fans, I hope you caught the reference. :)


End file.
